


Friends in Hidden Places

by Bdoing, mademoisellePlume, Vinnocent



Series: Heroes and Wolves [4]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Body Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoing/pseuds/Bdoing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellePlume/pseuds/mademoisellePlume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the rescue at the high school, the mysterious, advanced tech-wielding Braeden takes Scott and Stiles to a safe house where they find an unexpected surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in Hidden Places

Stiles shifted lower in his seat again, twisting into strange positions and agitated. "You know you're just driving twisty shapes all over town?" he demanded.

"Yes, Stilinski," she drawled. "It's called losing a tail."

He jumped in surprise, then twisted around in his seat to look out the back window. He scowled and deflated. "We're not _being_ tailed."

"Presuming that can prove to be a mistake," said Braeden, turning suddenly onto a side street. "Besides, we're almost there."

"Where are we going?" asked Scott.

"A safe house," said Braeden, "until she says otherwise."

"You need a hospital," Scott said, leaning forward. "You're bleeding internally and sick. I can smell it."

"I've had worse," Braeden snipped, turning too fast again and slamming the boys into the side of the Jeep.

"You've had worse?" Stiles demanded. "As the governor's driver?"

"Among other things."

"Look," said Scott, "I get that you're worried, but you'll be safe at a hospital, and—"

" _I'll_ be safe?" Braeden demanded. "Just who do you think is being rescued, wolfy?"

Scott and Stiles exchanged glances. "Uh… you?" said Stiles. "You were the one who just ran in looking for Scott to save your sick butt from wer—"

Braeden swerved again. "Uh, no? I ran in to warn Scott that his delinquent progenitor pissed off the Alpha Pack beyond belief. I was attacked merely to prevent me from saving his ass," she snarled. "Hence why they moved from me to you in the confused crowds." She shifted gears and threw the Jeep onto a gravel road through dense forest.

"Uh, by 'delinquent,' I'm gonna guess you mean 'Derek,'" Scott said. "But wouldn't my progenitor be my mother?"

"I'm using it figuratively to refer to the cause of your condition."

"Wouldn't that be Peter?"

She threw the Jeep into park and glared back at him. "Really, McCall? You're gonna do the PSAT thing _now_?" He just grinned sheepishly back at her, and she rolled her eyes and stepped out of the Jeep.

The boys quickly scrambled after her, finding themselves in front of a sod-roofed log cabin. It looked entirely disused, a thick collection of pine needles and leaves on the porch. "Stay here," she ordered, throwing out an arm briefly to block them. She carefully walked over a few barely exposed stepping stones to check the porch and in front of the windows.

A scent caught Scott's attention, but he couldn't quite make it out over the thick scents of the pine trees and the rosemary and mint which had gone wild in the cabin's disused garden. When Braeden took a stick and smacked the plants, it only stirred up more scent. She was deliberately trying to cover something up.

She made her way back. "Follow me. We're using the back door. Only step on the stones. The leaves and mud tell us trespasser activity. There's some traps, too."

"What is this? Fort Knox?" Stiles demanded, following her.

"I told you; it's a safe house," she groused. They took a wide circle around the cabin over stones that would hardly even be noticeable if Braeden hadn't pointed them out. Occasionally, she would beat a bush or shine her flashlight upward and new strong scents of plant oils and saps would overwhelm Scott's nose.

"What are you signaling with the flashlight?" Stiles demanded. Scott could sense that Stiles was getting tenser by the second even if he didn't have werewolf senses.

"It's not a flashlight, and I'm not signaling," said Braeden.

"Yeah? What is it then?"

"Classified."

"Okay, you can't just classify things," Stiles objected. "That's a real designation for, like, the government and military."

"I know." Braeden lead them up a path to the back door, checked around at the fallen leaves, beat a couple strong-smelling bushes and weeds with her stick, then, tossing the stick aside, stepped up and knocked on the door. "Hey, you know I didn't bring my keys, and I know you're standing there," she told the door.

Scott heard the sliding of dead bolts. The door flew open, and Boyd stood there with claws and teeth bared, eyes glowing yellow, as he snarled viciously. The snarling stopped the moment he recognized the visitors. "McCall?" The yellow glow faded from Boyd's eyes, and teeth and claws slid away as though they'd never been there at all.

"Hey! You can control it!" Scott cried happily while Braeden pushed past them into the cabin. "Also, you're alive!"

"That was in doubt?" Boyd glanced back at Braeden, who was being eased onto a couch by a very concerned Erica. Her flashlight was now sitting on the coffee table. "You didn't tell anyone where you put us? You said you were taking care of everything."

"Yes, and by 'take care,' I obviously meant 'make it easier to find you.'"

"My family must be worried sick!" Boyd objected.

"They are," Braeden admitted. "But they're also alive, unharmed, and still innocent of certain secrets. When you're back with them, equally alive, they will grateful. Now, let McCall and Stilinski in before someone sees them."

Boyd didn't look like he accepted that answer, but he didn't argue. He stepped back so that Scott and Stiles could enter. After debating for a moment, Stiles shut the door behind them. Erica pulled up Braeden's sweatshirt carefully. "You're bleeding a lot," she said, voice cracking just a little. "Inside."

Braeden gestured back toward a hall. "On my desk. Silver paperweight. Looks like a flattened orb." Erica nodded and ran off down the hall.

Boyd picked the flashlight from the coffee table. "Do you own anything that is what it looks like?"

"Put that down before you blow your head off," Braeden said entirely too casually. She was battling to keep her eyes open, and she looked much worse for wear than she had been just a few minutes ago.

Erica came in with the silver paperweight, and Boyd put the flashlight down. "You didn't have this when you left," he said. "You had the rifle."

"Stun gun," she corrected him, taking the paperweight and clumsily turning it over like she was trying to see something on the smooth, metallic surface. "The cops have it now." She tapped a specific space, then slid her finger over another, and the surface lit with intricate blue designs. "I picked _that_ up at a drop point between the hospital and the school." She tapped and spun the designs how she wanted, then finally pressed what was probably not actually a paperweight to the massive, disgusting bruise on her side, biting her lip and tensing as though simple contact with the device had caused her more pain than anything so far.

Stiles shook his head. "Classified? Drop points? Weird, secret tech? All wielded by the governor's assistant?"

"You're the governor's assistant?" Erica repeated, surprised.

"This is all starting to sound like a big conspiracy," Stiles complained.

Braeden shook her head. "No, a conspiracy is a plot, a plan. We're just responding, at this point. But there's a secret between us. CNTK. You know what that means?"

Erica, Boyd, and Scott shook their heads, but Stiles nodded. "Controlled Need-to-Know," he said. He scowled. "I'm guessing we don't need to know."

"Since last year, the governor has felt differently," Braeden explained, glancing at Scott. "But that's the 'controlled' part. We can't decide on the fly that it's easier for you to know. There's forms. Processes. We haven't been able to get approval for even McCall, much less others. Largely because of the relationship with the Hales." She gestured weakly to Stiles. "And that one."

"'That one,'" Stiles grunted in imitation. "Nice."

"So, no, no one is conspiring against you," said Braeden. "Well, except the Alphas. Possibly the Hales. But no one on my side. All the same, you still can't know what's going on. If you start to think you're figuring shit out? Keep it to your goddamn self or you're not ever seeing home again."

"Is that what happened to you?" asked Scott.

"What?" Braeden gawked at him. "I'm adopted, you little shit. I got a family."

"Sorry, it's just…" He ran his hand through his hair. "I was under the impression you were always with Eva."

Braeden's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Oh." Realization hit Scott. "Oh!"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She glanced down at the silver not-paperweight, which was sitting on a slowly fading bruise and mumbled something about slow no-tech. Scott then realized that there was something under her skin. Some _things_ , thin and writhing, radiating out from the object. He felt like he was going to vomit but was luckily distracted by Stiles.

“I don't get it," said Stiles. “You mean you're her adopted daughter? Then how come everyone's always talking about how the governor doesn't have family?"

Braeden glanced aside at that, scowling. “It's… not formal," she admitted. “Legally, I died years ago. We've used that to keep me safe." She glared a challenge at Stiles. “But I  _am_ her daughter. She  _is_ my mom."

Stiles put his hands up. “Alright. Alright, I believe you," he said.

Braeden glanced around at the group, then continued, "Family means a lot to the governor. She hasn't forgiven herself for not taking better care of you and of this town. We're scrambling to keep up with whatever's happening, but we keep finding ourselves a day late and a dollar short," she explained. "Instead of protecting Boyd and Erica, we had to rescue them and keep them secret. Instead of rescuing Lahey, I had to let Hale go with him. Instead of warning you about the Alphas, I end up running away with you and a bystander in haul." She sighed, ignoring Stiles's objections to being designated a bystander. "Maybe there _is_ a conspiracy, but I have no idea what it is."

A phone rang somewhere nearby. Like an actual jangling ring. The sort that came from really old phones. Erica glanced at Braeden, who nodded. "Would you mind?" Braeden asked. "Last time I tried to move with this thing, my finger slipped and I got a second liver."

Stiles looked sick. "I need to sit down." Boyd pointed to an armchair in a near corner, and Erica disappeared back into the hall. "This is too much," Stiles whined. "There was a line of 'Not Too Much,' and we have filled it. Werewolves? Okay, I can do werewolves. Were-lizard? Okay, well, it's Jackson, so that makes sense. But now we have secret military super-tech badass gubernatorial assistant driver and COME THE FUCK ON!"

"STILES, SHUT UP!" Erica snapped from the hallway. "I'M ON THE PHONE!"

Stiles sighed, leaned forward, and snatched the flashlight from the coffee table. "And really—"

"STILES, PUT THAT DOWN!" Scott and Boyd shouted with two entirely different tones.

"What is the deal with this fucking flashlight?" he demanded, flipping it in his hands before looking inside the glass end. Boyd snatched his wrist and twisted slowly, forcing Stiles to lean and crouch if he didn't want a snapped wrist. "Ow. Okay. Ow ow ow. Okay. Okay, you can have it! Ow..."

Boyd calmly took the flashlight from him and put it back on the coffee table. Braeden shook her head. "You touch my shit again, I'll throw this at you," she promised, indicating the silver device pressed to a large but faint bruise.

"Oh no! You might heal me!"

"Stiles," Scott hissed, blushing brightly, "it has _tentacles_. Under her _skin_."

Stiles blinked at Scott. Slowly, he turned to look more carefully at Braeden. Then, finally, he leaned back in his armchair. "Oh."

Finally, Erica reentered. "Thanks for making me look bad, guys," she said, glaring specifically at Stiles. Turning to Braeden, she explained, "She actually says to send Scott and Stiles back to their homes and to take us to the police station with a clever lie about where we've been, which she says she trusts you to come up with."

Braeden rolled her eyes. "Erica, you—"

"No, it's true!" Erica insisted. "She said it was because they grabbed Scott by the ankles!"

"What?" Braeden turned to Scott, confused. "They grabbed your ankles?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, they dragged me through the hall," he said with a shiver.

Boyd looked to Braeden. "Is that significant?"

"It means that they were trying to scare him, not hunt him," she said. "I'm not sure why." She looked up at Scott. "Go home." Almost immediately, Stiles was on his feet. "But be careful! Keep your eyes open, and trust no one! Especially Derek and Peter Hale."

Scott shrugged as Stiles pulled him toward the door. "We haven't even seen Peter in ages." He waived goodbye to his friends. "See you later, Boyd and Erica!"

They watched Scott and Stiles leave, then Erica snapped her fingers. "Oh! I almost forgot! She also said that as soon as you're done, you have another pick up."

"What?" Braeden demanded. "Who _else_ is missing?"

Erica shrugged. "I dunno. She just said you wouldn't like it."

— —

In a long-abandoned bank vault, twin alphas were having a lot of difficulty preventing their captives from killing each other too soon.


End file.
